on my being politically correct. I'm not going to Hendon, am I?'
'Not today, no,' said Latham, 'but this isn't about stopping you becoming a police officer, Warren, I can promise you that. You scored highly on all counts during the selection procedure, you're exactly the sort of material we want.' Latham pulled on his right ear, then scratched the lobe.
'The question is, exactly how would you be able to serve us best?'
Warren's forehead creased into a frown, but he didn't say anything.
'You see, Warren, putting you in a uniform and having you walk a beat might make for good public relations, but realistically it's going to make precious little difference to the crime figures.' Latham took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled slowly.
'What we'd like, Warren, is for you to consider becoming an undercover agent for us. Deep undercover. So deep, in fact, that hardly anyone will know that you work for the Met.'
Warren's eyes narrowed.
'You're asking me to pretend to be a criminal?'
Latham shook his head.
'No, I'm asking you to become a criminal. To cross the line.'
'To be a grass?'
'No, you'll still be a police officer. A grass is a criminal who provides information on other criminals. You'll be a fully functioning police officer who will be keeping us informed of the activities of the criminals you come across.'
'But I won't wear a uniform, I won't go to Hendon? No probationary period?'
'You'll never pound a beat. And the only time you'll go anywhere near a police station is if you get arrested. The number of people who'll know that you are a serving police officer will be counted on the fingers of one hand.'
'For how long?'
'For as long as you can take it. Hopefully years. Ideally, you'll spend your whole career undercover.'
Warren ran his hand over his black hair, closely cropped only two days earlier in anticipation of his new career.
'So I'd be a police officer, but undercover? I'd never be in uniform?'
'That would be the intention, yes.'
'If I'm not going to Hendon, how would I be trained?'
'You wouldn't,' said Latham.
'That's the whole point. We don't want you tainted.'
Tainted?'
'At present undercover operatives are drawn from the ranks,' said Latham.
'We spend years training them to be policemen, then we send them undercover and expect them to act like criminals. It's no wonder it doesn't work. Doesn't matter how long they grow their hair or how they try to blend, they're still policemen acting as criminals. We don't want you to put on an act, Warren. We want you to become a criminal. You already have the perfect cover you have a criminal record. We want you to build on that.'
'I can break the law? Is that what you're saying?'
For the first time Latham looked uncomfortable.
'That's not a conversation we should be having,' he said, adjusting his cuffs.
'That'll come later with your handler. I'm here to ask you to take on this assignment. I have a high profile: you know that if you have my word that the Met is behind you one hundred per cent, then you're not going to be left hanging in the wind down the line, if that's not mixing too many metaphors.'
'And if I refuse?'
Latham grimaced.
'As I've already said, you'll be an asset to the force. You can start at Hendon tomorrow, just one day late. I'm sure you'll have an exemplary career, but what I'm offering you is a chance to make a real difference.'
Warren nodded.
'How much time do I have to think about it?'
Latham looked at the large clock on the wall.
'I'd like your decision now,' said the Assistant Commissioner.
'If you have to talk yourself into the job, you're not the person that we're looking for.'
'Can I just get one thing straight?' asked Tina, fidgeting with the small gold stud earring in her left ear.
'Am I joining the Met or not?'
'Not as a uniformed constable, no,' said Assistant Commissioner Latham softly.
Tears pricked Tina's eyes, but she refused to allow herself to cry, 'It's not fair,' she said, her lower lip trembling.
'You shouldn't have lied, Tina. Did you seriously believe we wouldn't find out?'
'It was a long time ago,' said Tina, looking over the senior policeman's shoulder at the tower block opposite.
'A lifetime ago.'
'And you didn't think that being a prostitute would preclude you from becoming a police officer?'
'I was fifteen!' she protested.
Latham sat back in his chair.
'Which doesn't actually make it any better, Tina. Does it?'
A lone tear trickled down Tina's cheek. She shook her head, angry with herself for the way she was behaving, but she'd been so looking forward to joining the Met. It was going to be a new start. A new life. Now it had been snatched away from her at the last minute. She groped for her handbag on the floor and fumbled for her cigarettes and disposable lighter.
'I think this is a non-smoking office,' said Latham as she tapped out a cigarette and slipped it between her lips.
'Fuck you,' she hissed, clicking the lighter.
'I need a fag.' She lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, then blew a plume of smoke at the ceiling.
'You knew that if your criminal record came to light, you'd be in trouble,' said Latham quietly.
Tina glared at him.
'I don't have a criminal record,' she spat.
'I was cautioned for soliciting. Twice. Under a different name. I wasn't even charged.'
'You were a prostitute for more than a year, Tina,' said Latham.
'You were known to Vice. You were known on the streets.'
'I did what I did to survive. I did what I had to do.'
'I understand that.'
'Do you?' said Tina.
'I doubt it. Do you know what it's like to have to fend for yourself when you're still a kid? To have to leave home because your stepfather spends all his time trying to get into your knickers and your mum's so drunk she can't stop him even if she wants to? Do you know what's it like to arrive in London with nowhere to stay and a couple of quid in your pocket? Do you? I don't fucking think so. So don't sit there in your made-to-measure uniform with your shiny silver buttons and your pimp's fingernails and your pension and your little wife with her Volvo and her flower- arranging classes and tell me that you understand, because you don't.'
Tina leaned forward.
'Don't think I haven't met your sort before, because I have. Squeaky clean on the outside, pillar of the fucking community, but what you really want is a blow job from an underage girl in the front seat of your car because your little wife hasn't had her mouth near your dick since England won the World Cup.'
She took another long pull on her cigarette. Her hand was shaking and she blew smoke straight at Latham. He didn't react, just kept looking at her through the cloud of smoke.
Tina closed her eyes.
'I'm sorry,' she whispered.
'I'd expect you to lash out, Tina,' said Latham.
Tina opened her eyes again. She took another drag on her cigarette, this time taking care to blow the smoke
